this is the oiling process. these are pages on a screen. i am trying to work out the tangles of my thought. i have to put more effort into the effort. the projects? a manuscript or chapbook of thirty copies by the end of it for the late class, for the nuts and bolts and next steps. a paper, or two, of serious thoughtful social and media oriented slant. i can feel the uncleanliness of my feet and by extension my life. had a helpful talk with jenn yesterday afternoon. we spoke of ice-cream and i expressed my worries over school and ultimately life. because where am i going? what am i willing to do to get where i'm going once i figure out where i'm going?! will i continue to drive buses? break my back over making ends meet? become a paralegal to pay the bills. type fast. work hard to hand over hard life. what about family? motherhood? marriage?! eep. fear goes from drips to light trickles to bursting over already flooded streets. and my hand, thick against the cold, clean, endless page. my torment. my playing dead. mi pan facil y profundo
12:17 - Monday, Oct. 11, 2004
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